


Counterblows

by disappearorleans



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Begging, Bondage, Bottom Kylo Ren, Chains, Come Marking, Dominant Poe Dameron, First Order Poe Dameron, Force Nullification, Future Fic, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Public Humiliation, Submissive Kylo Ren, Top Poe Dameron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 01:40:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14009406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disappearorleans/pseuds/disappearorleans
Summary: Poe likes to send messages to the New Republic and he holds the best possible way to do that on a leash.





	Counterblows

“Supreme Leader Ren,” Poe said, pulling his gloves free. They fell with a sick _thwack_ against the table, loud enough to echo, or so it seemed. He laughed a little and shook his head, ripping at the snaps that held his black flight suit in place. So he still got a kick out of calling Kylo by his former title. Like titles mattered anymore. The First Order was in shambles, scattered to the myriad corners of the galaxy, and no longer a threat to the Republic, the Resistance, or anything in between.

Much like Kylo, felled by a too-cunning moon jockey who’d developed a dangerous taste for glory and carried luck wherever he went, finding the one thing in the galaxy that could nullify the only advantage Kylo had and going through the trouble of concocting a plan and following through with it.

Ysalamiri. He should have eradicated them when he had the chance.

He should’ve taken Poe up on his offer way back when. Poe wasn’t a bad looking man and he was a better fuck, but while Snoke still whispered in the back of his mind, neither of those facts mattered as much as killing his father, obliterating Luke Skywalker, and ending his mother did. In the early days, Kylo saw Poe’s overtures as little more than clumsy power plays.

As it turned out, the man had a bit of a soft spot for him. Or whatever passed for it in the heart and mind of a man who’d only ever wanted to fly and been honed into so much more than that by brutal, efficient First Order training. And now he had nothing left to direct that cold, knife-sharp focus on than the man he held accountable for bringing it all crashing down around them.

Kylo said nothing. Poe never wanted to hear Kylo’s voice. He hadn’t learned a lot in life. He seemed always to make mistakes. But he’d learned this lesson. 

“You’re looking good. I’m glad we decided to stop bothering with clothing,” Poe continued, brushing cool fingertips across Kylo’s exposed collarbone. He might have tried to snap Poe’s wrist, but though he had height and weight on Poe, Poe had the advantage here and now. Kylo was a swordsman and Poe had oh, so conveniently had Kylo’s lightsaber incinerated. And that left aside entirely the issue of the various chains and implements that impeded his movements, pulled his arms back when he sat upright the way he was doing now. They were makeshift, threaded through various loops welded to the walls and the foot of the bed, but they were strong and perfectly tailored to Kylo’s body. Poe’s nails dragged across the muscles of Kylo’s shoulders. Leaning in close, Poe added in a whisper, lips brushing Kylo’s ears, “You could play it up for your audience a little bit.”

Chest, neck, and cheeks all flamed brilliant red, which wouldn’t be visible in whatever holoprojected image Poe was transmitting to who knew where. Probably just his little ragtag band of former FO miscreants or to other fleets, a crowing shot across the bow. We got ours, these little holovids said, and look how good it feels. Maybe Poe took it a step further and was sending it to the darker corners of the Holonet. He did that sometimes, when he was feeling vindictive and wanted General Leia Organa, hero of the Second Galactic Civil War, to know what her victory cost her.

It was a small, pointless salvo, but it was the only payback someone like Poe Dameron could get from this far into the Unknown Regions, the place from whence the First Order came and had now, shattered and broken, returned to.

Kylo’s eyelids fluttered shut and he felt himself harden despite himself. This was what he’d been reduced to. It shouldn’t have surprised him any longer. Poe smelled of soap, astringent and precisely clean, and cool mint.

Poe offered him an encouraging hmm. “There we go.” He tweaked one nipple and slid his palm down Kylo’s abdomen. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Jaw tensing, Kylo tightened his hands to keep himself from trying to strangle Poe kriffing Dameron. As Poe’s hand crept further down his body, his world tilted sideways, stomach flipping, arousal flooding him. He bit back a moan and tried to ignore the way his thighs tensed and flexed, wanting more of whatever Poe would give him.

Because the truth of the matter was this. Poe’d left him here for hours, a plug in his ass and no way to ease the strain of it and there was no way to deny that he liked it. Not in any real way. It was too late for that. Any denial he offered, any rebuttal, would be met with a scoffing laugh and the very reasonable argument that, had Kylo truly wanted to be free, he might have tried to escape even once. __

__To have the burdens of responsibility lifted from his shoulders was a gift he was happy to leave unexamined.

There were worse things than being the First Order’s most decorated pilot’s toy.

“You ever considered not thinking so hard?” Poe’s hand tightened in Kylo’s hair, turned his head to the precise angle he preferred. Kylo’s shoulders stretched almost painfully as Poe pulled him further upward. And then Poe kissed him, deep, his lips softer than his words, his touch, harsher. He bit at Kylo’s mouth, nipped at his tongue. Every sharp sensation burned through him like acid, like lava, and pooled hot in his stomach.

He could not moan. He did not allow himself to moan. Though it built in his chest, rattled at its cage beneath his sternum, he did not make a sound. Poe took and took and took, and Kylo gave everything but that willingly.

He would have given more if Poe asked.

The hand that had teased at his nipples slipped down his side and back up again to shove him suddenly back onto the bed. The metal of the chains clattered as their weight shifted and the slack let more of them pool. Pleasure lashed and lurched inside of him as the angle of the plug changed and he was forced to draw in a deep, shaky breath.

Shuddering, writhing on the soft, white sheets, he looked up at Poe, who’d turned away to peel the jacket of his flight suit from his shoulders. The stiff fabric didn’t seem interested in parting ways with Poe’s body, an impulse Kylo could understand. He’d never touched Poe the way he wanted to, the way he sometimes imagined when Poe left him alone, unshackled, to while away the minutes, hours, days, sometimes, as he pleased.

He stripped, too, the fire-resistant body suit from his upper body and bent to remove his boots and socks before slipping out of everything that stood between him and nakedness enough to equal Kylo. Riotous bursts of scar tissue flashed across his shoulders, pale and raised, badges of honor for having survived a TIE crash some years ago. Kylo wanted to run his tongue across each ridge, taste the salt-warm skin of Poe’s back, push and pull and mold Poe’s pleasure in the ways he wanted it to be molded.

He acted as though he cut an unprepossessing figure, treated himself as nothing more than a vessel for his own retribution as he faced Kylo and strode toward him. Strict training regimes had turned his body wiry and strong and their recent failures had begun to wear away the sleek impressiveness of his build, gave him a slighter, hungry look. Every inch of him had been reshaped by their years of struggle against the Resistance and not always in a good way. But he was, as ever, remarkable.

He just didn’t seem to notice or care.

But Kylo did. He arched his back a little as Poe climbed onto the bed and spread his legs, hands rough on his thighs, a body warm packet of lubrication in his palm. The chains rattled and clacked a second time, though their protest went ignored. His skin flushed and he pleaded for anything Poe was willing to give him.

His cock leaked pre-cum against his stomach, cool and slick in counterpoint to the dry heat of Poe’s body between his knees, his hand dipping between Kylo’s cheeks to free the plug. He teased at it for a moment, pulled it nearly the whole way out before thrusting it back in again, making Kylo jerk and grind back against the small, unforgiving thing. A smile crossed Poe’s mouth, vicious and teasing, his attention wholly focused on what he was doing to Kylo, his dedication entirely on ensuring Kylo looked as shameless as possible.

This, too, Kylo had learned not to fight. Poe didn’t want a martyr or a struggle.

He just wanted Kylo to be reduced to nothing more than his basest impulses.

“You can speak,” Poe said, casual, gracious, indifferent even, “if you like. I don’t mind.”

That alone almost tore free a groan from Kylo’s throat. So it was one of those nights. He really wanted to make it hurt for whoever sat on the other end of this transmission. Well, who was Kylo to disoblige him? It would do no good and in this one, small way, he could get some revenge, too.

“Fuck,” he said finally, breathless, as Poe freed the plug and tossed it aside.

Poe arched an eyebrow and tore open the packet he’d brought with him. “Eloquent as always, Leader Ren,” he said, spilling the lube across his fingertips. Wrapping his hand around his cock, he stroked himself, perfunctory, as though to say this didn’t affect him in the slightest. Having Kylo Ren splayed before him did nothing for him. This was all for show. It was a job to be done.

It would be less humiliating if Poe decided to call him names or insult him and everything he stood for, reduce him to the role Poe had so firmly forced him into. If only he felt anything about these encounters, anything beyond duty and betrayal and the need to punish Kylo for his transgressions. Perhaps he did. Perhaps this was why Poe went through all this trouble.

He got something out of it. An orgasm, at least. A sense of accomplishment, maybe. He will have once again reduced Kylo Ren to a source of physical release and wrung a desperate, needy orgasm from Kylo in turn.

Poe grabbed Kylo’s waist with bruising hands, his thumbs pressing hard against his hipbones. Lining himself up, he slide home, not offering Kylo the satisfaction of even the slightest hint of pleasure at the tight, hot feel of Kylo around him. His cock breached Kylo, stretching him to the point of discomfort, but no further. This time, Kylo moaned, low and long and whispered his encouragement. _Yeses_ and _pleases_ and more, _Force damn yous_.

He never said Kylo couldn’t make demands.

Each thrust was hard and merciless. Poe set an infuriating rhythm, even and restrained in ways that the man himself was not and could never be. His eyes closed and he frowned in concentration as Kylo could do little more than keen with each harsh caress. His hands wrapped around the chains to steady himself.

Pleasure threatened to cleave him in two. It raced, electric, up and down his spine. If Poe touched him, he might shatter into thousands of pieces more, might fall apart entirely. Deep down inside, this, too, was what he wanted.

But Poe wasn’t interested in what Kylo wanted.

Instead, he swiped his finger across Kylo’s slit, circled the head of his cock with his fingers. Kylo bowed upward at the sensation, tried to fuck into Poe’s hand because it was there and he was so close and all he needed was something that Poe wouldn’t give him, not yet, not unless he asked.

“I think the others get a little jealous,” Poe said, his voice pitched a little higher as he looked down at Kylo. “Seeing you like this, who wouldn’t want to pull you apart?” Bending forward and holding himself up on one hand braced near Kylo’s outstretched bicep, stroking deep inside of Kylo at a new, delicious angle, he smeared Kylo’s own pre-cum across his lips, dipped his thumb into his mouth. It tasted bitter and unpleasant and Kylo’s tongue swirled around Poe’s digit anyway, tracing the curve of his clean, clipped fingernail before Poe took this tiny point of contact from him. “You belong on your back.”

If that was where Poe wanted him, he’d gladly stay there. If Poe kept fucking him this way, he’d do whatever Poe wanted.

And so he asked, earnest, “Please, fuck.” Breathing ragged, he bore down on Poe’s erection. Hoping, hoping… “Touch me, please, you bastard. _Please_.”

A tiny, nearly imperceptible gasp fell from Poe’s lips and he bowed his head to obscure his eyes. His hand, a little uncoordinated, squeezed Kylo in a tight grip, stroking up and down in rough bursts that made stars flash behind Kylo’s eyes.

His orgasm tore through him with vicious, unexpected ferocity, so powerful Kylo couldn’t even shout through it properly.

Poe followed moments later, stilling and shaking as his release filled Kylo. After a few ragged breaths of his own, he slipped free, wiped his lube-and-come-stained hand against Kylo’s torso. He stepped away and cleaned himself up with the fabric of the body suit. Balling it up, he threw it toward the corner of the room. After a moment, he looked as though none of this had happened. Stepping into his flight suit, he was Commander Poe Dameron once more.

Kylo didn’t care. With the scent of their release mingling, Poe’s come dripping warm from between his cheeks, he couldn’t.

Poe smirked. “Someone will be along to clean you up.”

Another humiliation that Kylo had learned to bear.

But Kylo didn’t mind.

“Thank you,” he said, so low he could pretend Poe didn’t hear it.

But Poe heard everything. And even if he didn’t, a holovid couldn’t lie.


End file.
